


you tarzan, me jane

by bellamyslady



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art Student Clarke, F/M, Not So Security Guard Bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 11:18:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4519893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellamyslady/pseuds/bellamyslady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>art student clarke and not-so-security-guard bellamy au drabble inspired by <a href="http://malietates.tumblr.com/post/124005910968">this</a></p><p>or</p><p>in which clarke draws bellamy and he asks her for lunch</p>
            </blockquote>





	you tarzan, me jane

**Author's Note:**

> val makes all my work exist. i am the review monster omnomnomreviewsnomnomom
> 
> i kind of really like this one. it was easy to write. also, i don’t like when people tend to put bellamy as lower than clarke (even though on the ark they had a class difference) so have not-so-security-guard bellamy.
> 
> also, i have never been to the MetMA so this was just some cursory research done on google.

“If you’re not interested in participating with the rest of the class, Ms Griffin, please take a seat  _somewhere_  and meet us back here in three hours.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to participate in the tour but she had wandered the halls and examined the paintings so many times she knew the museum like the back of her hand. It was where she first fell in love with art and where she decided she would become one of the greats and be featured on the same walls. Clarke travelled to New York annually just to visit the museum and its exhibits. In fact, she had been here two months ago for an Andy Warhol showcase.

When her professor said that they were going to the museum, she and her classmates had protested but he was adamant that they take a fully guided tour by one of his friends from college. Everyone else had resigned themselves to their fate but Clarke was persistent.

“Sir, wouldn’t it be better for me to go outside and do some of the work you assigned us? You  _did_  tell us to get inspired by the city.”

“Absolutely not. If we can’t locate you, we’re going to be behind on schedule and I will not have parents yelling at me for losing their daughter.”

Clarke rolled her eyes at his retreating back. He acted like she was still in high school. He was even a condescending sonofabitch in class but Modern Art 311 was a requirement if she wanted to graduate.  

With a sigh, she began to aimlessly roam the museum, her eyes just glossing over the paintings until her legs got tired. Locating a bench in the Monuments Men wing, she sat down and pulled out her sketchbook, balancing it on her lap as she dug for her pencils. Charcoal was her medium; her cheeks were constantly covered in black streaks and smudges.

She looked around the room for something to draw, something that she hadn’t drawn before. The artwork in the Monuments Men wing was legendary and she had no interest in defiling legends with amateur work. Her eyes landed on the security guard in the corner. He wasn’t too far away and he was standing right next to a painting. That was the perfect cover so he wouldn’t think she was a creep.

He was the perfect subject. His hair fell in curls into his eyes and no matter how many times his hand came up to brush them away, it always fell back the same way. The freckles that dusted his cheeks were endearing, lending a youthfulness to the harsh lines of his jaw and cheekbones. Not to mention, he was beautiful.

Clarke didn’t notice that the security guard had realised she was sketching him and was moving as little as possible. She merely thought he was extremely good at his job.

However, sketching him had taken less time than she had expected and Clarke was once again left with nothing to do. So, she took out her phone, pulled up the camera and pouted at the lens. The noise of the shutter clicking was loud in the empty room and as she was about to send the snap to Raven, her best friend, she saw the security guard stalking up to her.

Immediately, she froze and quickly covered her sketchbook with her hands as best she could. Her first thoughts were:  _Crap. If he sees the sketch, he’ll think I’m some stalker_. And her second thought was:  _Oh crap. I’m going to get arrested. What should I do?_

He stood in front of her and said, with a voice so low that it made her heart sing. She was always a sucker for beautiful boys with basses in their throat. “Ms, please refrain from taking pictures of the artwork.”

 _Phew._  She wasn’t going to get arrested. “I’m really sorry but I was taking a selfie.”

“I know.”

And much to Clarke’s surprise, he winked at her. His badge read Bellamy Blake. Still reeling from the fact that she wasn’t going to go to get arrested, she asked, “What?”

His cheeks coloured and she realised that he had been flirting with her. He raised his hand to run it through his hair as if in embarrassment but realised he was wearing his cap and lowered it. “I meant that you’re the artwork.”

Clarke stared at him, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Does that even work?”

Bellamy made a face but shrugged, somewhat confidently. “I don’t know. You’re the first woman I’ve used it on. Let me try again.” He cleared his throat and adjusted his stance, his eyes suddenly glinting suggestively. It made Clarke’s heart skip a beat. She thought his voice became even deeper. It was almost a purr. “Are you a piece of art? Because I want to nail you to the wall.”

“That is disgusting! Why would you even say that?” Clarke narrowed her eyes and stood up abruptly. She wasn’t going to sit here and talk to some asshole. “And here I thought you were hot. I’m going now.”

“I’m sorry. My friend told me it would work. He likes to pick up women at the bar down the street.” He stopped for a second, his brows furrowing. “You thought I was hot?”

“Keyword here being  _thought_.”

 “You thought I was hot,” Bellamy grinned. It was no longer a question.

“I am an artist. I know something beautiful when I see it,” Clarke said as she tucked her sketchpad and bag under her arm.

“So do I.”

“That isn’t going to work on me.” She took a step closer to him, scowling. “And I’m not going to forgive you for using that awful line.”

“You don’t have to forgive me. Let me take you out to lunch.” He held up his hands in surrender, as if to say that he had nothing to hide and he was being serious.

“I’m not going to lunch with you. I don’t even know you.” With a hand on her hip, Clarke said, shifting the topic, “Are you even supposed to be talking to me?”

“My shift just ended.” He sat down on the bench that she had just vacated, crossing his legs and looking up at her with a smile.

“So, what are you still doing here?” She didn’t know what she was still doing talking to this security guard but it wasn’t like she had anything else to do.

“Trying to ask a beautiful girl for lunch.”

“It’s not lunch time yet.” Clarke sighed and checked her watch. It was only about eleven-thirty.

           “Even better. We can go for a stroll in the park and then to lunch.” He knotted his fingers over his knee. It was then that she noticed his perfectly unblemished hands, the neat nails, possibly even manicured.

“You’re not really a security guard, are you?” she asked, raising a brow.

His eyes gestured to the sketchpad under her arm. “I’ll tell you if you tell me what you were sketching.”

“You.”

“Me?”

“You Tarzan, me Jane?” Clarke stifled a laugh and then rolled her eyes. “Yes, you.”

She set her bag down on the bench next to Bellamy and flipped open her sketchbook to show the profile sketch she had done. He took it from her and seemed to examine it for long enough to make Clarke feel as if her work was being scrutinised by an expert. “You’re good,” he said finally, handing the sketchbook to her.

“You can have it if you’d like,” she offered.

“I’m Bellamy. I’m a junior curator here. I just started a week ago,” he finally revealed.

“Clarke. Art student from not around here. I’m on a class trip.”

Bellamy looked scandalised as he carefully asked, “You’re not in high school, are you?”

Clarke snorted in laughter. “Does it look like I’m in high school?”

His eyes immediately went to her breasts, snug in the sheer top she was wearing, the lace of her bra peeking through the material.  _That wasn’t such a good idea_ , he thought as his mouth went dry and judging by the smirk on Clarke’s lips, she knew where his thoughts had went to. “Umm, no?”

“Good. I’m not. Don’t worry.”

Bellamy let out a sigh of relief. Clarke picked up her bag and slung it on her shoulder and then turned and walked away without a word. He sighed as he was her retreating figure. He probably shouldn’t even have opened his mouth. Then, Clarke turned around. “You coming, lover boy?”

Bellamy scrambled to his feet and in his hurry to her side, he almost tripped over the bench and stubbed his toe. “What’s a good place to eat at?”

“I thought we could just grab hot dogs and eat them in the park.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“Can I hold your hand?”

“Maybe after lunch.”

And that was how Clarke’s professor lost her on the class trip to New York. But that is a story for another day.


End file.
